


Take Me (I’m Yours)

by buskie



Series: Ineffable Wives [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25072507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buskie/pseuds/buskie
Summary: “Ah, but calling it a den of iniquity implies that it’s immoral.” Crowley swayed closer. “Or illegal. This is just harmless human fun.”“I wouldn’t call what I’ve seen happening on the dance floorlegal, as I am certain there are still public decency laws,” Aziraphale huffed. “And that’s nothing to say about what I saw happening on the lady’s room.”Crowley perked up. “Do tell.”“I think not,” said Aziraphale primly.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Wives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480457
Comments: 4
Kudos: 104





	Take Me (I’m Yours)

Aziraphale wrapped her lips around the little black straw of her sugary purple drink, scowling out at the crowd of undulating bodies. The drink was the closest thing she could find to wine—at least, color-wise—and tasted almost entirely unlike a blueberry, with a splash of vodka and enough sugar support candyland’s expansion initiative for five years. 

Out of all the minor temptations Crowley had asked her to perform for her, this one was the worst.

She had already been sitting in her dark table in the corner for an hour, had needed to encourage five men and two women to kindly relocate to a different table and leave her alone, and there was _still_ no sign of her target. She was beginning to think this was one of Crowley’s pranks. Usually, she left the Arrangement out of the little jokes she sometimes played on Aziraphale, since Aziraphale could easily decide that maybe she won’t take on any of Crowley’s assignments for a decade or two.

She sighed, taking another small sip from her drink, then screwing up her face and pushing it away. Revolting.

Aziraphale straightened up, watching someone in the crowd with sudden interest. Then she got to her feet and strode into the dance floor, to her _new_ target.

“I can’t believe you’ve had me to go to this—this den of iniquity when you were planning on coming here all along!” Aziraphale had to shout to be heard. The energetic music had just rolled into the next song, although the thumping bass didn’t change that much. The music was yet another insult added to this awful night.

Crowley barked a laugh, which was absolutely infuriating. Aziraphale cherished her rare laughter, but right now she rather preferred to be angry. “Den of iniquity,” she mocked. “It’s a _club_ , angel, not an opium den.”

Aziraphale planted her hands on her hips. “Don’t try to tell _me_ the meaning of a word, you old serpent. Look around this place and tell me it isn’t a—a hub of sexual—sexual delights!”

Crowley did not look around. In fact, she kept her eyes squarely on Aziraphale. Aziraphale could tell, because she was watching her over the top of her sunglasses. “Ah, but calling it a den of iniquity implies that it’s immoral.” Crowley swayed closer. “Or illegal. This is just harmless human fun.”

“I wouldn’t call what I’ve seen happening on the dance floor _legal_ , as I am certain there are still public decency laws,” Aziraphale huffed. “And that’s nothing to say about what I saw happening on the lady’s room.”

Crowley perked up. “Do tell.”

“I think not,” said Aziraphale primly.

“Spoil sport.” Crowley grinned down at her. “Look at you. You look _gorgeous_ , darling.”

Aziraphale _knew_ she’d got her dress wrong. No one else was wearing white. On the other hand, Crowley, of course, fit perfectly in. Her tight black skirt was cut high and her drapey gold top cut _very_ low, leaving little to the imagination. 

“Oh, do be quiet. How was I supposed to know what to wear?” Aziraphale snapped, folding her arms over her chest, embarrassed.

“I’m serious!” Crowley took a step back as if to get a better view. She even made a show to slowly look her up and down, but the effect was ruined by her sunglasses and her wicked little grin. “Interesting choice for a club, but it suits you.”

Aziraphale pressed her lips into a thin line. “Interesting,” she repeated, testily. “Well, now that you’re here, it looks like you won’t need me to do your tempting anymore—”

Before she could back away and make a break for it, Crowley caught her wrist. The unexpected touch stopped Aziraphale short. They didn’t _touch_. In fact, Crowley seemed to make it a _point_ not to touch Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley, seriously. She was standing very close. “You look stunning.”

Aziraphale frowned at her, opening her mouth to protest. She didn’t need Crowley’s _pity_.

“When I said interesting, I only meant that you look like you should be in some society garden party in Mayfair, not a dive like this,” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale tugged at the hem of her skirt self-consciously. It was a short, although not nearly as short as Crowley’s skirt, sweetheart cut dress that was almost unbearably tight. “You don’t need to humor me—”

“Angel,” Crowley stepped closer, taking off her sunglasses to look deep into Aziraphale’s eyes. Aziraphale gasped, glancing around the club, but it was dark, and the men and women watching them looked more interested than horrified. 

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale slowly raised her eyes back to Crowley’s face. They were standing so close now that the front of Crowley’s ridiculous top brushed against Aziraphale’s chest. “You look gorgeous. Every man and woman in this club wants to put their hands all over you. I can tell. I’m a demon. I can feel their lussst when they look at you.”

Crowley’s voice was dark and a little growly, and at the end she’d lost control of her s’s there for a second. Aziraphale studied her face. Sometimes, she found herself struggling to keep up with Crowley. Crowley was so clever and wicked that she always left Aziraphale five steps behind. But Aziraphale thought she might, finally, understand the emotion she sometimes caught in Crowley’s eyes.

“Every man and woman?” Aziraphale asked, oddly breathless.

“Every one of them,” said Crowley, smiling at her.

Aziraphale chewed on her lower lip. She was _mostly_ sure she understood, but if she were wrong, she could lose a lot. “Even the occult ones?”

Crowley stared at her, then finched. “Obviously.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured, heart pounding. It hadn’t been obvious to her, not until this very moment. She leaned up and kissed her.

She pulled back quickly, cheeks burning. Crowley stared down at her with impossibly huge eyes that were _sure_ to draw attention. When Crowley just continued to gape at her, unblinking, Aziraphale frowned. “You didn’t meant Hastur, did you? Because if you meant Hastur wants to get his hands on me and not _you_ , well, I am _certainly_ not interested and cannot believe you would think—”

Crowley grabbed the back of Aziraphale’s head, tangling her long fingers in her curls, and kissed her rather more urgently, her tongue and insistent caress against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale whimpered, flinging her arms around Crowley, mostly to hold on. Crowley kissed her like this would be her one and only chance, pouring every ounce of desperate longing into the kiss. Tears sprang to Aziraphale’s eyes. She had no _idea_. She tried, clumsily, to tell Crowley that she wanted her too, and with the same degree of desperation.

Crowley pulled back first, tearing herself away with an effort, but when she tried to step back Aziraphale locked her in place, gently but firmly cupping the back of her head. Crowley stared down at her, eyes wide and burning with equal parts elation and lust and terror.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Aziraphale asked, breathless.

“Why didn’t _you_ tell _me_?” Crowley shot back.

“I didn’t know,” said Aziraphale.

“Yes, well, I didn’t know either,” Crowley said, nearly sarcastic. But her unblinking eyes never wavered from Aziraphale’s face, as fixed as a snake. “Come on,” she ordered, tangling her fingers with Aziraphale’s, and dragging her off the dance floor.

* * *

The lights in the bathroom were dim, but Aziraphale still found herself blinking at the sudden brightness compared to the club. Crowley didn’t give her any time to adjust, just marched her past the empty row of sinks and into the last stall. The door slammed shut behind Aziraphale, enclosing them into a room roughly the size of a closet. Crowley flung herself down on the closed toilet, tucking her hands between her knees. Outside, the bass thumped as steady as a heartbeat. 

Crowley stared up at her, unblinking, her expression carefully neutral. It wasn’t hard to read her silent message: whatever happened next had to be initiated by Aziraphale. Deny it all she wanted, but Crowley really _was_ kind—far kinder than Aziraphale could ever be, since Crowley had to contend with her demonic nature, and was kind regardless. Instead of just taking what she wanted from Aziraphale, she put herself into Aziraphale’s hands, letting her set the pace. This way, Crowley was the vulnerable one—the one who would be hurt the most if things fell apart. 

“One moment, if you please,” said Aziraphale, then pulled a handkerchief from the front of her dress and spread it out on the floor between Crowley’s legs. When she looked back up, Crowley had her face covered with one hand.

“Spontaneity is a foreign word to you, isn’t it?” Crowley asked, dragging her hand down her face. But her eyes had lost the fear Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed, and her lips trembled for a moment before spreading into a wide, joyous grin.

“Forgive me for not wanting to get my knees filthy,” Aziraphale huffed, but she grinned back.

Crowley rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers. The small bathroom was instantaneously cleaner than it had probably ever been, with a hint of freshly cut roses in the air.

“Thank you, that’s much better,” said Aziraphale, primly, then lowered herself between Crowley’s legs, resting her hands on her knees and looking up at her.

The full weight of what they were doing struck Aziraphale. This wasn’t teetering on the edge of improper by covering a minor temptation for Crowley. This was admitting to herself—to _Crowley_ —what she actually wanted from the demon. Which, as it turned out, was everything.

Crowley’s grin softened into a not-quite smile, reading Aziraphale’s expression like she always did. “Still have time to back out, angel.”

Aziraphale cocked her head to the side, wondering how many ways out Crowley was going to give her before she accepted this was actually happening. She would have to spell it out for her. So Aziraphale skimmed her thumbs over Crowley’s knees and looked at her through her eyelashes. She leaned forward a little, so that Crowley had a wonderful view down the front of her dress.

“You know,” she said, thoughtfully, “the problem with this dress is its dreadful tendency to show panty-lines.” She shifted her arm a bit to boost her already ample cleavage and smiled with one corner of her mouth. “I’m afraid I had to do away with them altogether.”

Crowley’s large eyes got even wider. “Ngk,” she said.

The other corner of her mouth went up and she grinned. “Bra, too.” She tiptoed her fingers up the inside of Crowley’s thigh, not really knowing what she was doing but figuring she was getting something right, what with the way Crowley’s mouth had just dropped open. “I’m completely nude beneath this little slip of a dress.”

“Are you _trying_ to discorporate me?” Crowley demanded, and to Aziraphale’s delight, went a lovely shade of pink.

There was a cacophony of voices and overloud music as the door to the bathroom swung open and several drunk clubbers tumbled in. Aziraphale glanced over her shoulder at the door, confirming that it was locked. When she looked back at Crowley, she was smirking, a challenge in those lantern-yellow eyes.

The door that separated them from the rest of the bathroom was flimsy at best. Aziraphale could hear the drunken laughter of clubbers touching up their makeup at the counter, which meant anything they did in here would be heard on the other side of the door. Neither of them bothered to silence their little cubicle. There was something thrilling at the risk of being caught. 

Not looking away from Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale crept her hand slowly up Crowley’s skirt. She was, in fact, wearing panties—a black lace thong that tied at the sides and that was getting progressively wetter as Aziraphale fingered her through the cloth. It was _intoxicating_ , how quickly Crowley responded to her touch. Crowley’s lips parted, but she breathed silently, eyes darting towards the door.

There was something decidedly improper in Aziraphale for taking that as a challenge. She hooked her thumbs under the bottom of Crowley’s skirt and hiked it up, exposing her lacy black thong. She slipped her fingers along the side, teasing her fingertips into Crowley’s slippery cunt. Crowley sucked in a breath, too quietly for anyone but Aziraphale to hear. The sound made her blood sing. Curiously, she pressed her fingers back into Crowley, never going deeper than her first knuckle, shallowly fucking into her with just her fingertips. Crowley was deathly silent, but she reached down and grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist, hard enough to leave a ring of bruises, and a rush of desire soaked Aziraphale’s fingers.

She drew her fingers out, then lifted them to her mouth. A long hiss of breath escaped from Crowley’s teeth as she watched Aziraphale, eyes hooded. Aziraphale let her own eyes drift partially shut, tasting Crowley on her fingers. Musky. Sweet. Oddly, a little burnt. She drew her fingers from her mouth and glanced back up at Crowley’s face to find her glaring murderously at her. Aziraphale grinned back at her, delighted.

Crowley made an impatient gesture at her. She didn’t need to say anything for Aziraphale to hear: _get the fuck on with it, angel_.

For that, Aziraphale took her time sliding her hands back up Crowley’s legs, digging her thumbs into the wiry muscles of her thighs until she reached the seams of her panties. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears, thumping with the bass from the club. She didn’t think Crowley realized this was her first time, or that had been her first kiss from a woman. If she had, she would probably insist on candles and champagne or, at the very least, a bed.

Aziraphale leaned forward and nuzzled into the damp spot on Crowley’s panties.

Crowley’s fingers tightened in her hair, but she didn’t make a sound. She didn’t even a gasp when Aziraphale experimentally licked her cunt through the lace, and then it was Aziraphale who had to fight back a moan at her taste. She dragged her tongue up her cunt until the muscles of Crowley’s legs abruptly spasmed and the fingers in her curls got momentarily painful, before abruptly loosening, petting the back of her head apologetically.

Aziraphale panted silently against the inside of her thigh. The insides of her own thighs were already slick, and Crowley hadn’t even touched her yet, was just tenderly stroking the back of her head, and yet Aziraphale felt as if _she_ were the one being taken apart. She slid her hands up, untying Crowley’s ridiculous thong. Crowley kept herself neatly hair-free, save for a trimmed strip of hair, and suddenly Aziraphale felt a flash of completely unangellic jealousy.

_Who do you keep yourself so neat for?_ she wanted to demand, but since the women were still at the counter, chatting drunkenly, Aziraphale instead spread Crowley’s cunt open with her fingertips and licked deeply into her. Crowley tasted like nothing Aziraphale had before; salty, but also so sweet, and with a hint of something burnt. Like burnt sugar. Aziraphale had to swallow back a groan. Crowley was so _wet_ , getting wetter with each deep lick, and Aziraphale realized that this was what gluttony was: indulging in sweet delicacies until you were drunk on it. 

She dragged her tongue up, lapping at Crowley’s clit. The sound was wet and _obscene_ , but too quiet to be heard outside, and more importantly, Crowley’s entire body jerked like she had just been hit by a thunderbolt. Aziraphale could hear her gasping now, little bit off breaths that wanted to be moans, and again Aziraphale had to bite back her own whimpers. Her own cunt was dripping wet, a heartbeat pulse; she squeezed her legs together, then shivered and gasped. She curled her tongue deep into Crowley again, her own desire making her frantic. She pressed closer, breathing hard through her nose, wrapping her hands around Crowley’s hips and spreading her cunt open with her thumbs. One of Crowley’s hands left the back of her head and Aziraphale drew back slightly, enough to look at her face without needing to stop licking her clit.

Crowley brought her own hand to her mouth, biting on her knuckles. She was curved over Aziraphale, eyes squeezed shut, copper-red hair tumbling out of her sloppy bun and over her shoulder. Her cheeks were burning red and there was a trickle of sweat rolling down the side of her face. Forgetting herself, Aziraphale groaned at the sight, and Crowley’s eyes snapped open. Their gazes crashed together, and then Crowley _gasped_ , her entire body tensing, and then shaking, and her cunt got impossibly wet. When Aziraphale realized what was happening, she groaned again, almost silently, and pushed Crowley’s legs further apart, licking into her, desperate.

Crowley didn’t scream, or groan, or shout; instead she curled over Aziraphale so tightly that her forehead pressed into her upper back. She gasped harshly, clutching the back of her head with both of her hands. Aziraphale dragged her tongue up to her clit and pushed a finger into her. Crowley clutched her head tighter, her body locking up for a second, and then shuddering harshly. Aziraphale was swept away, lost in Crowley’s desperation and her own desire, and only drew back when Crowley twitched and gently tugged at her hair.

Aziraphale sank back on her heels, blinking slowly up at Crowley, dazed. Crowley stared back at her, then touched the corner of Aziraphale’s slick mouth with trembling fingertips. Aziraphale’s lips parted.

The stall door beside them opened with a creak, then slammed shut, making them both jump violently.

Crowley silently laughed at Aziraphale’s look of absolute horror, reaching down to tuck one of Aziraphale’s errant curls behind her ear, then setting a hand on her shoulder. A second later, they were standing outside the club, clothes perfectly in place but hair still a mess. Crowley staggered back a step, doubling over with laughter.

“Your _face_! You really are such a proper little angel, aren’t you. What did you think would happen in a—”

“Crowley.”

Crowley’s laughter faded. She studied Aziraphale’s face for a second, and then she took two large steps forward and gathered her into her arms. Aziraphale trembled, overwhelmed and a little lost, _aching_ for Crowley. 

“It’s alright, angel. I’ve got you.”

* * *

Crowley’s apartment was all right angles and soulless corners, save for a room dedicated to flourishing, terrified plants. There were other bits of her personality peeking through: a throne, an original da Vinci, a rather interesting statue of two angels wrestling Aziraphale would need to examine later, a—bed. It was a very nice looking bed too, with dove-grey sheets that appeared quite soft and plump pillows in matching pillow cases.

Aziraphale wouldn’t know for sure though, since they never made it to her bed. The stone floor was cold and hard, rubbing bruises into her knees. Crowley knelt behind her, dragging slow kisses down her neck, one hand holding her shoulder, the other resting on the bare skin of her thigh. Aziraphale pressed back, tilting her head to give Crowley more of her neck, her entire body humming with need.

“Crowley,” she whispered. Pleaded. She didn’t even know what she wanted, just that _something_ had to give before she flew apart into a million atoms.

“Shhh,” Crowley hummed, her fingers trailing up the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh, sending a shivery lick of heat up to Aziraphale’s stomach. 

Then Crowley froze.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said again, uncertain. She twisted slightly to look into Crowley’s face, and found her staring down at her, wide eyed and dumbstruck, her lips slightly parted.

“ _Fuck_ , angel,” Crowley bit out, her voice ragged. Her pupils were huge and black. “You’re—you—” She dragged her fingers up Aziraphale thigh, where she was still slick from the club.

Aziraphale’s cheeks burned and she dropped her eyes again. “Crowley, my dear, I’m not certain you fully understand just what you do to me.”

Behind her, Crowley shuddered, and then there was a heavy weight on her shoulder, as if Crowley couldn’t hold her head up any longer and needed Aziraphale to support her. Crowley’s hand trembled on her thigh as she held it perfectly still, exerting so much will that Aziraphale could feel it in the body vibrating behind her.

“Need a moment?” Aziraphale asked, finding it in her to tease even though it came out a little breathlessly.

“You are going to be the death of me,” Crowley growled, then finally slid her hand up, dragging the bottom of Aziraphale’s dress over one hip. A ragged gasp tore out of Aziraphale’s throat as Crowley dragged her fingers over the wet seam of her cunt, sweeping over her throbbing clit. 

“I want to try something,” Crowley murmured into her neck.

“Anything,” groaned Aziraphale recklessly, but she meant it. She would take _anything_ from Crowley.

Crowley exhaled a shuddering breath against Aziraphale’s neck, and then abruptly there was something hard and plastic pressed against Aziraphale’s cunt. Aziraphale jerked in surprise, then let out a mix between a shout and a groan when the little device turned on and vibrated against her clit. It lit up every single nerve ending in both her corporeal and non-corporeal body, and she would have fallen forward to her hands and knees if Crowley’s other hand hadn’t locked tight on her shoulder.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Aziraphale cried, pressing back hard against Crowley, wild. Already she could feel the pressure building, swelling in her lower belly and all the way up to her chest, to her heart.

Crowley’s hand slid from her shoulder to her chest, shoving the top of her dress down to cup her breast. She pressed open mouthed kisses along the side of Aziraphale’s face, rubbing the small vibrator in torturous circles over Aziraphale’s clit.

“Beautiful,” Crowley groaned, as if she were the one being tortured.

Aziraphale sobbed, mouth falling open, and the swell crested, then burst. Her body wrenched forward and she fell to her hands, knees sliding hard against the floor, and Crowley followed her, rubbing the vibrator against her clit as her orgasm rushed through her in wave after destructive wave.

The vibrator clattered to the floor. Crowley’s other hand came up, wrapping around her stomach. She pressed the side of her face against Aziraphale’s back, panting nearly as hard as she was, her entire body trembling. Aziraphale’s own arms shook with the effort of keeping herself upright. They knelt there, silent and unable to move. 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley chuffed out a small laugh. “Do you think you can stand?”

Aziraphale tried to consider it. It took a moment. “No,” she decided.

“Come on, angel. The bed’s far more comfortable than the floor.” The weight on her back lifted and Crowley tenderly pulled her to her feet, adjusting fidgeting with Aziraphale’s dress until it was more or less presentable. Stumbling slightly, Aziraphale followed her into the bed, then crowded close, wrapping both her arms around Crowley’s waist and burying her face in her chest. Crowley exhaled a small, happy laugh, and Aziraphale squeezed her tightly, clenching her eyes shut.

“All right, angel?” Crowley asked, carding her fingers through her hair.

“Ask me in an hour,” Aziraphale mumbled. “I’m afraid my brain has melted.”

Crowley laughed into her hair, dropping a kiss into her riotous curls. “Rest, darling.”

* * *

Aziraphale slowly blinked awake. It had been a long time since she’d slept, and apparently she was dreadfully out of practice, since the room was still dark. Her limbs were still entangled with Crowley’s, warm and sticky, with her dress clinging uncomfortably to her skin. She carefully pulled away, adjusting her dress as she sat up. Crowley murmured a sleepy protest, hand curling where Aziraphale had been sleeping.

Aziraphale quietly got to her feet, blushing a little at the state of her body. It felt—raw. Her _soul_ felt raw, flayed open, exposing a part of her she hadn’t realized existed. This carnal desire felt nothing like a sin. It felt like love. 

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale looked over her shoulder. Crowley was sitting up in the bed, sheets pooled around her waist. She didn’t say anything else, but Aziraphale had known her long enough that she could read the plea writ large on her face: _STAY_.

She shouldn’t.

It was a terrible idea.

“Oh, to hell with it,” she said, and crawled back into the bed, into Crowley’s waiting arms.


End file.
